Darkness Calling
by Vshard
Summary: What if the newest grey warden simply walked into the moonlight never to return... Would the merry band of followers stay together? Would Alistair finally lead? Find out the secrets of the missing warden's journal in the next episode of Darkness Calling.
1. Into the Moonlight

"She's gone, isn't she?" Alistair flopped to the ground as he eyed the only other creature by the fire. His plan on sitting had begun as a crouch, but ended much less gracefully than originally imagined.

In response the prone Mabari merely lifted an eye above the level of his paws and whined inquisitively.

"Now, don't you look at me in that tone of voice. I know she's not really gone now... right?" The warden shook his head as his vision filled with the intricacies of the dirt at his feet. "I don't know. Something just feels wrong here."

"Brrk!"

"Right. More wrong than usual."

Briefly, Alistair contemplated poking his head into Wynne's tent for a piece of consolatory advice. If nothing else, her quick chastisement of his worry would help - wouldn't it? For want of something more useful and less irritating to do to dissipate his worry, the warden plucked a bluish colored rock from the ground by his thigh and tossed it into the fire. The resulting explosion shocked his hair into a new state of disarray while skidding him a fingertip's length backward. "Huh. That wasn't a normal rock-like thing to do," he muttered as frost-laced visions danced through his head.

Somewhere through the icy smoke, tufts of intentionally mismanaged dark hair poked into at fringes of the grey warden's tunnel of vision as a sleepy-eyed Morrigan scowled at him. "Well, look at the bright ray of vigilance we have here. Would it shock you to discover that it is deep midnight and your betters are sleeping?"

Alistair stared up at her, the dim box of his stunned eyesight widening at last to include the rest of the camp in clarity. "How can you sleep when-"

"-when the second most competent person here is out standing guard? Quite easily, in fact. As I do believe that is the purpose of these inconvenient watch rotations." Morrigan seemed to conclude that this was the end of the conversation as she turned toward her tent.

"No, she is not." An anxious Leliana trudged up from the wood's edge, big blue eyes skittering from side to side before they fell into the mist of a sorrowful puddle. "We were out watching. Well, she was watching and I was talking, but I... Oh no, I fell asleep and when I awoke - she was not there."

"Argh," Morrigan growled. "She is probably out collecting berries or whatever it is elves do."

"Ah yes, berries. I have heard that the Dalish in particular are partial to wild hodgeberries that only grow at midnight under the threat of danger." The heavy-lidded eyes of the newly-arrived Zevran pinned the witch of the wilds down with a calmness that belied their indignant anger.

"Well, I don't know. Couldn't you just warden-sense her location? Gut-wrenchingly touching moments after dreams can not be all that is good for." Morrigan's amber gaze began to travel in the direction of her tent less frequently as, under a deep mask of contempt, she appeared to pinned some sliver of hope upon the remaining grey warden.

"That was directed at me, I take it." Alistair sighed as his hands fell impotently to his sides. He had really begun to hope that his companion and leader had decided, in the dark of night, to suddenly improve upon his lamb stew recipe with some new ingredients. "It doesn't really work like that." He lifted his hands outward. "Besides, the only place I wouldn't expect to find a trace of her in this camp is in the stew."

"The only place?" The Antivan elf to the warden's right could not seem to help himself.

All too easily, Alistair rose to the bait though his threat lacked the power it might have had if he had been standing at the time of delivery. "If I find her in... your tent. Or that she ever was in your tent... with you. I will..."

"Flog me to within an inch of my life? Oh, please do." The laughter, easily apparent within Zevran's words, did not quite reach his eyes this time. Thin tentacles of worry had crept in like a subtle veil of dew over dense foliage.

Finally standing, the sole remaining warden shook his head. He found that this method failed miserably at clearing the unwanted image that had just been pushed into his brain, but it did allow him to proceed with some form of clarity nonetheless. "This isn't really any reason to panic, right? There's no reason that she would want to run away from us, is there? I mean, with all of the constant battling and running for our lives - the whole blight looming over head... perhaps she just needed to take a walk and... clear things out a bit.

He received an identical look from each of the three companions standing around him and possibly one also from the dog, but it was hard to tell from his current position.

"You don't belong to perhaps an auxiliary branch of the grey wardens, do you? One that perhaps handles the fundraising for your cause?" The witch of the wild lifted a brow, staring down her target with one amber eye.

"He does have a fine face. I believe I would buy cookies from him."

"Zevran, you are not helping this situation at all. We should focus on finding Sarel even if she is just..." Leliana paused to glare at Morrigan. "...picking berries." The Orlesian bard half-turned to begin her search, but her progress was halted by a wall of clanking plate. "Sten! I am sorry. I did not see you."

The large qunari seemed unmoved by the hasty apology. "Let that be the only thing you do not see tonight."

Behind Sten, a tent ruffled, revealing the white hair of an unsettlingly peaceful Wynne.

"Oh look. It's a party - which is exactly what we will need to find our missing elf." Alistair smiled. The addition of manpower made this crisis seem more conquerable by the moment.

"No."

The smile withered on the warden's face. "No?"

Sten stood, having yet to blink. "I am not here for a party."

Alistair, on the other hand, found himself unable to stop blinking in amazement. "Well, it's not that sort of party. Sarel has-"

"If our leader has lost her way then it is for the best."

"How can you possibly say that-"

"-Sten, what are you here for then if not to help?" With but a few words that were neither truly kind nor truly stern, Wynne quelled the feud-to-be as she reached the group.

For an odd moment, the qunari warrior shifted, looking almost uncomfortable. "I heard there would be cookies."

The entire party, Alistair excluded, found themselves felled by laughter. Even Oghren, who had yet to emerge from his ale-induced coma, chortled along between spurts of snoring. The once-templar, however, felt too much worry boiling in the pit of his stomach to be amused. Something was indeed wrong... or at least more wrong than usual.

After retreating away from the unhelpful crowd, the warden found himself at Sarel's tent. The elf-ess had kept herself secluded here once the rounds she'd established were finished. Even now, the thought of lifting the flap of material that separated her world from the blight brought about a trepidation within the man that he normally associated with the moment a blood mage lifted his - or her - hand. But onward he went. Links of chain became embedded in the mossy ground as the warden poked his head into his fellow's bedchamber.

There must be some hint here that would save him hours of wilderness-stomping in the dark - and should she simply walk back and everything return to normal, he would also have some idea as to what... what he might do to turn her gaze from Zevran. Alistair did not relish the idea of being caught in this act, but he had been practicing his penitent puppy face for just such an occasion. And it might actually work on her where it had failed on other member's of the party when he had asked about soiled socks and the like.

Rough ridges of leather brushed under his wandering hand and served to snap Alistair's mind back to his present task. There would be no awestruck gift-giving with his elf if she were never to return. But what was this? A journal. The warden lifted the book into his lap, both excited and hesitant as he moved to read its contents. One page, torn from the rest, rested at the beginning and stunned his eyes with his own name spelled out in woodland script.

_Alistair - _

_I was told she walked into the moonlight the night my father was killed. Walked away and was never seen again. I understand now. Do not follow as you do not know the way. _

The last warden on duty in Ferelden found himself staring at something rough and tan. Something that kept shaking as he tried to focus on them - his own fingertips along the edge of the parchment. This... this made no sense. She wouldn't leave - she couldn't. She understood duty and honor better than any of them, didn't she? And who was the 'she' in the text? Who disappeared. Alistair searched his mind for any glimpse of a word his fellow warden might have spoken about her past - about the Dalish. It all blurred into images of sparkling eyes, splatters of blood... and something else shiny. Why couldn't he remember her words. Lips spoke with with no words in a vision of times past, taunting him with his own distraction.

Finally his eyes fell with a steady gaze on the journal in his worn hands. He had to read it. She must have known that he would have to read it, right?

_He watches me across the fire. It is not his interest he sees, but my own instead. He watches me watching him and I can not stop long enough to earn denial of the act. I wonder how he can see so much yet act so little, but then if my own inaction were to be an example for him then I am all the more to blame. He watches me and I fear he will act. I relish the fear of the memory that is never to come as he sits and refrains himself from dancing as the others do. _

_It is a clear night and he and I are the only ones still watching. We watch the road in for the dangers that come and the road out for the safety of our hunters. We watch each other when the sound of crickets grows too loud in our ears. It is as home is for Tamlen and I. There is no other way._

Slowly, Alistair stared off into the darkness. Did he really want to read this?

* * *

_Author's Note: So yes, I've joined the ranks of the Alistair fandom, but as with all things... I like to think I'll do it differently - bring something new to the table. I had originally thought I might try to make this origin-less and name-less for better imagination fuel, but I find that I can not write something as personal as this will be to my elf without identifying her as such. I also realize that the name might be a bit odd for some with good recall. I honestly didn't know the name would be in the game when I picked it.. nevermind that it would be on another gender of elf, but as they say... nothing new under the sun. At least i got my few moments in of feeling inventive. If you're curious - I pronounce it differently Suh-rell rather than Say-rul. Now here's some fair warningness - this will be a fic with chapters long in coming in between - at least until I finish SuS. I just found that this one not being filled out and published was hindering my writing of the other one so here you have it - the story that harassed me until it was told. I'm also going without beta for this one because I feel one story is plenty to make someone work on for free, but if you read this and feel there are consistent errors feel free to point them out in review. I like to think I take criticism well and hey - it'll only make it better in the long run right? Now that this note has become a novel in itself, I shall bid you adieu with a closing thanks to Ricard for the adjustment on Alistair's attitude and Sinvraal for helping my writing come as far as it has. Cheers all. I hope you enjoy this.  
_


	2. Getting to Know You

_And this is why I, very wisely, relinquished all leader-type duties. This._

Alistair pressed two fingers to his forehead as he surveyed the rowdy campsite. He had been doing so well too. Just few hours before, he'd sent Zevran and Leliana to scout out routes that the last warden's lost elf might have taken. It had seemed like a bright move at the time. Now it appeared that his first act as leader was the last thing he wouldn't have to worry about. He didn't even Dog to complain to now.

_Alright_, Alistair corrected himself, _Dog has a name too_. For the life of him though, he could not force his tongue to pronounce the word Eyres the way Sarel could. Even in his mental voice, it just sounded like Iris. He'd only tried it once when he found that the Mabari mutt seemed to take some exception to being compared to a delicate flower. _He even bit me!_

"Why have we not broken camp yet?" A low rumble of a voice ice-picked its way through the once-was templar's muddy thoughts.

"Sten?" Alistair cocked his head to the side as he looked up on the massive man before him.

"Even now, you waste time." The qunari did not exactly cross his arms over his chest, but his armor creaked with effort, as though that was the task they were undertaking.

"Look tall, dark, and shiny - we need to find our leader first and even if we didn't, we haven't the slightest idea where to head off this whole demon horde thing." As he finished his words, the former templar found himself staring at the ground... or rather a very large set of plate boots that seemed to block out the ground.

"The Korcari Wilds." The man was a wall, a mountain, a stone barricade just waiting to pour oil down an unsuspecting victim's unmentionables...

"Yes, yes, we know there are _some_ darkspawn there, but you can't just open the book of blight and jump in the middle." As he continued, the warden became more animated. He began gesturing a countdown with his hands - one finger against a palm, followed by several more as he went on. "You need directions, finesse, nerves of steel, and armies - well more than we've got now anyway. Not to mention we also need an archdemon..." Alistair looked up with a sigh. "Maker's blood, but I never thought I'd say that."

Sten remained unmoved - and unmoving. "Some is better than the complete lack of darkspawn we know to be here."

"Do we know? Do we really? What if they are the reason we are short a leader? What if some very literate darkspawn suddenly crawled up out of the muck and spirited her away? They like the dark you know, _dark_spawn. That's why we post watches at nigh- Andraste's burning bosom! The watch!" The warden looked furtively across the camp as his heart managed to both sink and fly rapidly against the boundaries of his chest.

Zevran and Leliana were gone with Dog. Oghren - Maker save him from the day he needed to rely on the dwarf's watch - was leering at Shale by the fire. Morrigan and Wynne were casting virtual spell daggers at each other with their eyes somewhere by the tents and Sten was too close for comfort, whining in his own very masculine way. The closest thing they had to a watch currently seemed to be the merchants, Bodhan and Sandal... _bloody hell_. He'd have to break up one of the debates he'd been avoiding. Actually, two. Two would be better so they wouldn't just go back to fighting again the moment he turned his back. Wait - was that a plan? Perhaps he was getting the hang of this leader thing after all.

Alistair jumped as Sten growled beside him. Or, you know, maybe he wasn't. One way to find out. "Sten." A strong start - good. "Go-o..." No, no breaking. Be firm. Like a rock. Except not the exploding kind. "Go take first watch - just to make sure there aren't, in fact, any darkspawn about."

To his surprise, the qunari simply nodded then strode off to the edge of camp. Now, how did he manage to move so gracefully in all of that? It was almost like- Right. Task at hand. Alistair girded his loins as he approached the chocolate and vanilla witches, trying very hard as he did so, not to laugh... at himself.

It was Wynne's warm oatmeal voice he heard first. "...but you are beautiful and he is young. At least it seems that so far, even he knows better."

To the warden's ears, each of his own footsteps seem to say, "_Don't let it be me. Please don't let them be talking about me_."

"Why Wynne, are you actually offering me a compliment?" Even smoothed to a sickly sweet concoction, Morrigan's voice still bore just a hint of viper hiss.

"Only you would take that as a compliment."

And in complete contrast, Alistair pondered before he would be forced to speak, Wynne's most spiteful barb seemed to wrap him in a nice, warm blanket. He almost smiled at that, but his comfort was short lived.

"Why Alistair, what brings you about this side of the fire?" Wynne presented him with that thin smile that usually made him wonder about her...

The warden wrapped himself up in that glowing simper he was considering earlier. "Wyynne..."

"Yes, Alistair?" The older woman's brow was quirked as Morrigan looked on with vague amusement. It was a double-edged trap, ready to spring on the slightest misstep of words. One end was just fuzzier than the other.

"Well, ah, you seem... well-rested. Would you mind standing watch with Sten for a while?" Best puppy-dog smile. Yes? Look at these cute, brown eyes.

"Does he know that you are sending in reinforcements for him?" Something behind Wynne's eyes dared to hope for the answer she already knew wasn't the case.

The warden frowned slowly. "Noo... That would be a problem, wouldn't it? Well, in that case, you don't have to go. In fact, I have this hole in one of my-"

"-I think I'll go convince Sten he could use the company, if not the aid." Never was a hurried exit made with more sweet sincerity.

"You forgot to set watch, didn't you? You would leave us exposed to any manner of dark creature of the wilds who chose to just swoop down upon us." Amber eyes continued to bear down into their target, though their owner had to look up to do so. It was a nearly enviable feat.

"Morrigan..." Alistair found he was too... just done... with this conversation to care about the repercussions of what he was about to say. It wasn't that he should fear the wrath that might come, but rather the gloating. "You are the scariest thing in these wilds - swooping or otherwise."

The warden then turned to attend to the other irritating pairing in the camp. He also cringed when he didn't hear a rebuttal spewing forth from behind him and truly expected to feel lightning coursing over his shoulders at any moment. He did so until he found himself overpowered by the stench of Oghren's... well... for most people he would have said released gas, but in the dwarf's case, it could just as well have been his breath.

"You sure you don't wanna forge the moaning statue? Heh heh. Heh heh. Statue."

Shale didn't so much exhibit an expression as she glowed in a way that Alistair had yet to learn how to interpret. "You know, I have a sneaking suspicion now of the reason why I decided to give up my fleshy body. I can not yet remember it, but I have decided this is a good thing."

"You're missing a good thing, baby. Here, lemme show ya." It was lucky for all eyes about that drunken hands do not so much unbind leather straps as they do fiddle with them. Yet it was still disturbing when the dwarf seemed to actually be making progress towards his threat-er-promise.

The stones across Shale's back seemed to alight violently all at once. Then they blinked in time with a low even thing that was quite similar to the archetypal evil laugh, but was much creepier. "Very well, drunken dwarf. I have reconsidered its intimate proposition. Please step closer. I do so look forward to squishing it into a bloody pulp beneath my stones."

"Woah woah... alright. Enough with the... very... disturbing... imagery there." Alistair was quick to intercede with hands raised before any squishing could begin - bloody or otherwise. He then realized his right raised hand was parallel to what would be stony nether regions and moved it higher then lower again as he thought it too close to what once was girlish parts. Finally, the warden dropped both hands in defeat. It was too much work thinking of the statue before him as both a golem and a girl.

"It was not just an attempt at imagery, ser warden. I truly relish the idea of prompting fountains of hot blood to erupt from the neck of drunken dwarf. This is a girlish thing to want, no?" Shale was glowing now in a soothing amber. Strange how the color had morphed through the night.

"That's just... it's just. No. No it is not. Unless you're Sarel or Morrigan or... Fine, fine. I suppose every member of this motley troupe must be unhinged enough to long for... fountains of blood... from their lovers." Alistair simply moved on, forgetting what orders he had been about to hand down and, though was no chill to this particular eve, the warden found he could not stop shivering...

Behind the retreating warden, Oghren's snores cut through the air. Alistair hoped upon hope that the little man had not found a way to release his pants before he'd turned in for his nightly collapsing ritual. Shivers. More shivers.

With at least the security of a few good, dependable eyes and the ongoing search of two more sets, the warden told himself he could now relax enough to take another peak at his elf's journal. He didn't fully want to read its contents - certainly no more about her longing for Tamlen - but he found himself drawn anyway, drawn to hold just that last piece of her he had left.

Look at him, waxing poetical as he crawled uninvited once more into the still-standing tent of his arbitrarily-named and now-absent leader. _Ah, but she grew more beautiful in absence... _

He was still smiling to himself as he flipped open the worn, leather cover, but he did skip ahead a bit - just in case.

_These shems in Ostagar are truly a different breed from those I'd encountered in the wood. They cast no fearful eyes upon the curves of my bow, but take great interest in those of my body instead. It is strange how like the stories they truly are. Though I try so to the contrary, I find myself toppling from the peaceful balance I had struck in my mind between the shems that raped our bodies as well as our lands and those trembling does I'd pushed from camp. Somewhere between better than they and worse than they is where we should be, but yet they would have it no other way but on the ends of hostility. _

'Where is my blade, you slothful elf?'_,_ _said the shem quartermaster. Peace, the mind said. His flabby belly does not know of living for others. His miniature eyes known nothing of daily beauty. Rage, the fingers said. They gripped the Dar'Misu hilts to a white-knuckled justification. The flat-ears who arrived with the aforementioned blade looked on me with open entreaty. I would not have bled the shem, but I stayed my anger all the same for my foreign kin. _

'I am a grey warden.' _I was not yet, not fully, but I had felt a need to test the power of these words. I expected the squat shem to laugh. Instead he opened his stores with sickening simpering. Later, I discovered he would be almost the worst of it in this encampment. Later also, I began wearing my Dar'Misu more visibly at my hips. They are not strong weapons, but effective and appear more menacing than the swords forged here. _

_Remembering Duncan's word, I ceased my explorations and began seeking the man they named Alistair. I would know more, but now I must hurry. Dark blood trickles at the end of my lips. It leaves a stain as I wipe it away, but it does not seem to mark me greatly different from the ladies here - even the soldiers. What easy battles they must fight for soldier women here to have time for artificial rouge. _

Alistair leaned to the edge of the seat he wasn't sitting on and tumbled forward from bearing weight on his ankles to a full kneel. His head bumped the top of the tent in the process, but he pressed on, eager to read anything the beautiful elf had written about him.

There was more too - she was sick?

_Dirthamen, this shem, Alistair, helps me remember the word human again. He is light and warm in all this darkness. Though he is irreverent to the mage keeper, I find myself ready to side with him, my new brother, despite my lack of knowledge of the politics I would be interfering with by doing so. It is a sensation that bears an odd feel, but it can be passed for the certainty that the proud stranger, Duncan, has chosen well in this man's case. I will bring them honor for as long as I may rise above the darkness._

There was much in that last entry that should have troubled him, but the exclamation that could be heard from outside the tent was, "Brother!? No."


	3. Til the Blood Runs Clear

As the moon rose on the latest day of his elf's absence, Alistair found himself reflecting upon a story Leliana had told him once about a great king riding... well, he couldn't remember where the king was riding, but that wasn't important right now. What was important was the horse. "_A horse"_, he'd said, _"My kingdom for a horse."_ Now, if could only remember how the king had obtained the horse, he'd be cooking with fire. Of course, he didn't exactly have a kingdom to give for such a beast. It really was a sure shame as he certainly wouldn't have minded giving up said kingdom for one now. And speaking of cooking...

The voracious warden crouched by the camp's central fire, inhaling suspiciously. "Morrigan, what is that delightful smell coming from your ah.. cauldron?"

The Wilds witch sighed "It is the same cooking pot everyone else uses, Alistair. Why is it now a cauldron when I use it?"

"Because it's boiling toil and trouble?" The warden grinned as he shielded himself with one hand from the suddenly wrathful air.

Morrigan stared despondently into the stew. "Would I had that recipe, but alas 'tis only rabbit."

Alistair brushed himself off as he stood properly. Bits of him still prickled from the maelstrom he had expected and not received. In fact, he was fairly certain something was on fire. He just hadn't found it yet. "Rabbits are fierce too, you know. They have those sharp, pointy teeth!"

There was that glare he was seeking. Someday he would learn to channel the force of that amber gaze into a weapon. Then he would be unstoppable. Well, he would until he cut his own hand off with it anyway. As bravely turned his back on the withering wench turned cooks, Alistair found that he was still lacking a horse. Apparently, his momentary lack of attention on the subject had not magicked it into being.

There was a distinct reason the warden required a horse at the moment and it had nothing to do with his aching feet. They didn't seem to agree, but the fact still held that a horse could travel much farther and faster than he. Another flaw in his earlier scouting plan trotted up through the morass of his mind and rapped him on the head. He should have directed Leliana and Zevran to commandeer a few of the Dalish halla. They seemed like the sharing sort after all, didn't they?

Beside him, the bushes began to wriggle and writhe. Something told him that the source of the disturbance wasn't a friendly halla...

For a moment the fool was lost in the guise of a determined warrior. Alistair braced himself, drew his steel, and waited. It wasn't darkspawn out in the darkness, but any number of other creepy-crawlies could be upon the camp soon, seeking revenge. Darkened eyes drew a line through the dense, forest foliage. As long as the leaves kept moving, he felt relatively safe. It would only be when they stopped that he would know an arrow was about to invade his heart in a very unromantic manner.

"Very good form, my dear Alistair. If I did not know better, I would almost be frightened."

The voice was smooth as silk yet managed to pluck every one of the warden's nerves as he turned to meet it. "Well, if it isn't my dear friend, Zevran. Isn't he cute all... cloaked in shadows."

The returning elf ducked into a brief bow. "I am most flattered, my liege, and may I say you look most stunning yourself. The moonlight really brings out the flecks of gore in your hair."

There was only one response to this assault. In a show of brawny finesse that could only be achieved after a lifetime of practice, Alistair planted his face into his palm and groaned. "I take it you didn't find her then?"

"Ah, no..." Bedroom eyes seeking sincerity looked off into the tree-line. "But ah, we did find something. Leliana is making her way back with him now."

"Him? _Him_!?" The warden's hands were gesturing wildly now. "That is the complete opposite of what I sent you to find."

The debonair smile never quite Zevran's face. "Not complete, no. He is in fact, an elf."

"That's it. I am going to strangle you. I am going to find myself a rope, loop it around your neck and pull until your ears pop off." The ex-templar took a step toward the assassin as his fingers flexed stiffly by his sides.

"You could try, my dear Alistair, but he is very hard to catch." The trees finally quieted as a pretty, pouty redhead emerged.

A square-jawed elf peered over Leliana's shoulder - or rather around it. "Can I suggest something that doesn't involve violence or is this the wrong crowd for that?"

The warden found himself pointing before he'd really thought about it. "Who is he? Why is he in my camp?"

A lone dark voice drifted along the smoke from the fire. "Soo... it's your camp now, is it?"

"Not now, Morrigan. Now is definitely _not_ the time." Alistair's anxious hands raked through spiky blond hair, having no effect at all on its state of disarray. Then a hand that was not at all his came into view.

The hand seemed to belong to the elf - the new elf - who was waiting for some sort of response from him. "I think we may have gotten off to a bad start. My name's Tabris to some, good-for-nothing-knife-ears to most. Kieren to friends. The choice is yours."

The warden took a long moment to assess the possible dangers of shaggy-haired, green-eyed newcomer whose armor looked to have been mis-arranged by a very eccentric collector with no sense of style or size. No piece seemed to match the rest and the set was lacking gloves entirely. He found that even though the man wore a rather sturdy wooden shield on his back alongside a sword seemed to shine in its own confidence, he didn't appear to be all that threatening. No, in fact, standing alongside Zevran, the newcomer was beginning to look a lot like an ally.

"Alistair." The ex-templar reached past Kieren's hand to grasp his forearm in greeting. "Welcome to the precipice of personal peril and various other assortments of improper living likely to get us all killed."

"Sounds just like home." The elf smiled, mimicking Alistair's gesture with a firm grip.

"Somehow, I don't want to ask where you hail from." Thoughts of dark dungeons danced in the warden's mind, but suddenly there was light. A bright spark of something pulsed against the gloom - an idea. Alistair sidled up to the new recruit as it were and dressed his voice in its friendliest tone. It was meant to say without actually saying... _Listen to me, we're comrades now, right? So I can ask you this favor and you won't want anything in return..._ While what it actually said was, "How much do you know about the Dalish?"

"Well, I was actually seeking them when I found your friends here." Kieren drew back just a bit as he scratched his head. "Found them too. There's a bit of a settlement just to the Northwest of the Brecilian Forrest. They're not the friendliest bunch."

"Excuse me, ser warden, but if you will be otherwise... occupied then I assume we are done with our duties?" The assassin's words were the only dutiful part about him.

"No, no you are not. You... need to write me a very detailed... report. Yes, report, that's it." The smile fell away from the warden's face. "I need to know where Sarel is. You pledged a vow to her. You know how important she is."

"Alistair," Leliana started quietly, "We are worried about her too. There are so many things that could have happened to her... spiders, wild dogs, assassins... but she can..." She patted his shoulder as she turned her face away. "I have faith that she will return."

"I think what our dear priestess is trying to say is that finding our leader is a bit like searching a haystack for a needle with legs. It can be done, but by the time you find it, you are covered in straw - or in our case, darkspawn." For the first time that night... or ever really, Zevran looked sullen.

Torn somewhere between heartfelt ache and fear of discipline, the warden sighed. "I know the mission needs to come first. I just feel that if we move from this spot, we will lose any chance of finding her. Where would she come back to?"

"Well, aren't we a sour bunch." Wynne's voice, as she approached, was warm comfort. "I would ask, but I believe I know what this is about."

Alistair found his gaze turning toward the older woman of its own volition, dragging his hopes with it.

"Let us set a ward on this field for Sarel. I believe we have some of her possessions we could attune it to?"

The warden nodded.

"Good, then tomorrow we will leave her this message as we break camp. Should she return, I will know and we may send someone back to guide her to wherever we may be at the time." Wynne's expression darkened as she seemed to consider what might prevent this plan from coming to fruition, but her soft smile never faltered. "For now, let us rest. Zevran, you and Leliana have been on a long journey. I will take first watch with our new friend here while you, Alistair, gather something we might use for this ward."

As the group broke up, the ex-templar found himself vaguely amused despite cold burn of resignation that was grasping at his innards. A year ago, he'd have laughed fully had someone told him he'd be gathering spell components. It was the perfect excuse to spend some time in her tent, though. Just himself and the memory of her. Just his hands caressing the last essence of her left in camp.

_The course of my life has now run in a path as twisted as the river. We hunted today, not for food or safety, but for blood and documents. The beasts we faced have devoted their entire mind power into their abominant odor. The smell lingers still upon my fingertips. This smell, the agent of the foulness that runs now in my veins, I can bear it only as I think on how soon I will be rid of it - how soon this taint will be dispelled from my body. _

_. . . . . . . . . . .  
_

_Wretched curse will not let me free. It wraps further now along my body, under my skin. It lies eternal now, it having embraced me and I it. I can almost long for the sweet sleep Daveth slumbers now, but I am not yet so weak as to surrender to its call. I look now to the light that lives, the warmth that thaws the ice. His strength in quelling the beast is as a beacon... and now I am summoned._

In the darkness, Alistair's expression alternated between the flicker of a smile to the dead-set line of of concern. She thought he was a beacon. Then again - the Joining was a terrible burden for anyone, but what had she had inside her before?

* * *

_Author's note: If for some reason anyone is curious, you can find both Sarel and Kieren by searching VibrantShadow on the Bioware social network or you can just take the snippets of description as I give them. Either way - enjoy :)_


	4. Divided We Fall

"I pray she finds your light and holds it in her heart. As darkness falls each night, remind her where you are."

It was the last tent to come down. All the others had dispensed with theirs long ago - even Oghren had risen for the occasion. Alistair too had packed up his tent and scarce belongings. All that was left was hers. Somehow though, amidst all of her sketches, the menacing - and attestably sharp - Dar'Misu, and the coarse blankets that smelled of sweet pea, honeydew, and entirely too much... her, he'd gotten distracted. So instead of packing her things, he now knelt within them doing something he'd long ago promised himself he wouldn't - praying.

"It is a good thing you do, Alistair." The words of the redhead floated in, leaving the warden visibly shaken... for all their sweetness and such.

Still bearing a faint sheen of red, the once-templar turned to face the parted doorway. "You don't think it's wrong somehow? She was-isn't exactly a devotee."

Leliana nodded. "Andraste watches over all her children, no matter their path."

"From that great burning pyre in the sky?" The words were out before thought had time to rush in screaming Nooo! But there they were. Alistair watched in slow motion as the little bardess before him transformed into a wrathful avatar then stomped away from the tent.

"I'm sorry!" he called. That would be good enough wouldn't it? No, there would be hell to pay later, but at least now... now he had time to himself. That is until Wynne came by to scold him silly...

The warden sighed, closing his eyes as he relished the one last peaceful memory of his Mahariel he suspected he had left.

_I pray you'll be my eyes and watch her where she goes._

_Help her to be wise..._

Finally, when the last of the elf's belongings were packed into smaller, more manageable parcels, Alistair made his way out toward the rest of the group. Truthfully, there wasn't much of it. It scared him a little to think of what she had left without - personal affects, weapons. Those things only lost their meaning when their owner was dead or intending to become so...

_Maker, Help me to let go._

* * *

The warden wasn't in a speaking mood when he reached the rest of the party. Thankfully, neither were they. It was a gloomy, sullen affair appropriate for a cold, misty morning. But no, the sun was shining and he could even hear - were those birds singing?

No.. no birds. Dwarves. The representatives from Orzammar had packed up as well and rather quickly too. As his own party muddled toward an exit, the dwarves had already begun marching, singing... or was it more like chanting... as they went. Alistair envied their spirit - until he realized they were heading in the wrong direction. _No, no, no._ This had to be remedied shortly. The warden rushed over as he silently thanked the Maker than one existed out there with a lesser navigational sense than he.

"Excuse me, ser dwarf, I couldn't help but notice you seem to be moving away from the party on this fine morn. I realize we are rushing to certain death, but that's no reason to get cold feet, right?" Alistair resisted the urge to bump the dwarf's shoulder at the conclusion of his jest. Rather, he was stopped cold in the process of doing so by the look on the shorter man's face.

The bearded man was living stone - eh expression-wise rather than Shale-wise. "Don't have the time to talk to you, surfacer."

The warden skidded to a stop, found it counter-productive to his attempt to speak to a moving creature and resumed a quick walking pace. "What!? Why? I am the leader here while our other leader is absent which means you have to speak to me." Ha. Alistair folded his arms, let him wriggle out of that one.

The little man was not impressed, but the anger Alistair had managed to instill was enough to stop him in his tracks. "Look, kiddo. King Bhelen's recalled his troops. Seems his little wench of a sister got loose and fancies herself some sorta ninja. We go where he says - not you."

"Listen you run-he has a sister?" The warden quickly shook the perplexed look from his face. That is not the important part here. Need to recover. "How... were you planning on dealing with this sister?"

"Same way we deal with any opposition to the throne." Judging the look on the taller man's face, the Orzammarian representative relented. "What, you want us to serve her tea and crumpets?"

"No... no. I simply want you to... bring her back here. If she's as much trouble as you say then she would be a valuable asset to our team." Alistair tried particularly hard to hold his smile of self-pride to a minimum. He nearly succeeded until he became proud of himself for doing so.

"Sure, why not. If she doesn't wind up impaled, we'll trot 'er right on back to Denerim," the dwarf grunted before moving on.

The warden stood smugly. He had gotten what he wanted - well sort of. Then he recognized the look on the retreating man's face - that _anything to get this fool away from me_ look. Yes, the look was all too familiar and hardly worth pursing at the moment. Not when he had a team to command anyway. Lucky for him they were all conveniently corralled around the fire.

"Everyone," Alistair began, "Let's go over where we stand a minute. Under Sarel, we had the support of the elves, the dwarves, the mages, the templars, and the nobles - well almost."

"Humans," Oghren muttered, "Stubborn bunch won't recognize our efforts hauling their collective asses out of the forge. Got no honor - not like us dwarves."

"Indeed? Was that our honorable dwarven support I saw leaving earlier?" Morrigan arched a smug brow.

"And she just had to make it worse." The warden pressed his fingers to his forehead. Slowly, he regained his composure. "Oghren, Shale, I need you to return to Orzammar somewhat.. behind our dwarven comrades and convince them that they really need to come back. Their experience will be invaluable in the fight ahead - you do understand that invaluable means cannot do without, I hope?"

"Don't get yer knickers in a twist, elf-lover. I got everything we need ta convince 'em." The red-haired dwarf cracked several knuckles against the palm of his opposing hand. Somehow, that answer did not set anyone at ease.

"I believe what it is trying to say is that we should have no trouble convincing the fleshy things to once more join us in squishing the giant bird." Shale glowed with satisfaction.

"I wouldn't entirely consider the archdemon to be a bi-, but nevermind that's not important. Now, we're going to need a way to communicate with you. Wynne, do you think the mechanisms that used to be the control rod could be used for some sort of sending device?"

The elder mage blinked slowly. "Why yes, I believe such a thing could be achieved. Alistair, you surprise me. I would not think a templar would know so much about magic."

"Almost templar. Almost. Just because you folk speak in hushed tones around us, doesn't mean we don't hear you." The warden shook his head, briefly recalling one too many classes he'd stood watch outside of.

"And what shall become of the rest of us, oh wise and competent leader?" The wild witch stared cooly across the fire as she stretched her legs.

"The plan will have to be the same as she left it. We go to Denerim and get the banns on our side." The once-templar held up a hand to quiet Morrigan's coming objection. Amazingly - it worked. "I know it seems useless, but where could we better find out where this thing has hit the worst than to keep tabs on which nobles have run away the quickest." He tried, oh he tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but it was an insurmountable task.

"You've really thought this through, my good friend Alistair." Zevran leaned closer, stroking one finger across his lower lip. "Might I suggest that Leliana and myself arrive apart from the group proper to tap the pulse of those who might be shall we say... warden-shy?"

The warden nodded, more done with the conversation than actually in agreement. "Yes, that sounds like nothing will go wrong there... Alright, we've got a really really long walk ahead of us so everyone finish your breakfast and then we'll move." _And I'll just sneak off over... here for a moment... _

He hadn't packed her book, not fully. Something had just felt wrong about sealing it away and out of reach... because of course that made it much harder to read.

_My heart is sick with the feeling that I have put a tyrant upon the dwarven throne. The image of Lord Harrowmont bent before the axe will not drain itself from my eyes. He believed me an ally, yet shed my blood willingly enough. The tasks he'd set me upon were not meant to be survived. I am hardly certain that I have. Perhaps I am the little dwarven woman, counting the days of loss in mad terror and only wearing this skin. It is better, I tell myself, that the lord not have lived to see the changes that are to come. It is better than I do not see them either, but I meant for neither of our deaths. _

_Is this I or another thing that looks upon Bhelen and sees the end of strife at the far point of a tunnel of blood? It is not a hunter's thrill that grows within, but an exceptional apathy that is more terrifying than a thousand tentacled beasts. _

Sitting within a stony outcrop, set just away from the fire-pit, Alistair raised a hand to his eye. _Was this woman never at ease, never happy?_ How poor his skills at reading her had been. Granted... a blight was not exactly a call to singing and dancing. _What was that on the other side there? _Anxiously, he thumbed the page over.

_Notes on Human Interaction_

_Possible that humans know no more about interacting with each other than any other race would of them. Asked Morrigan for advice on speaking to fellow warden. Results not as expected. If time allows, review following for error._

_"Morrigan, when you wore your other skin and looked in upon Lothering, did you ever observe any of their courtship customs?"_

_"I believe most of those rituals were performed indoors, but there was one... Several of the women in town would line up against a wall each night. They would stand their, beckoning the men who passed by with bawdy calls. The men would come closer and the women would dodge away, only to call again from a different place upon the wall. I was unable to discern the next part of this affair, but eventually pairs and men and women would disappear into the inn and would not be seen 'til morning. I would not be sure that this were a mating if not for the outrageous calls that would parade out into the night, reminded me of wild cats at times. Does this answer your question?"_

_"That is a strange custom, but yes, I believe it does."_

_* * *_

_"Alistair, Have you a moment?"_

_"At your service. How did you sleep last night?"_

_"It was a... pleasant night."_

_"No more dreams of darkspawn then?"_

_"Not of darkspawn, no, but I did experience quite torrid dreams of you and I together."_

_"And there goes all of my thoughts all over the ground there. Excuse me, I think I need to go find them."_

Alistair chuckled to himself. He remembered that night and was still fairly certain his little elf had had no idea what she'd just said... or prompted to run amuck in his head.

* * *

_Author's Note: Credit where credit is due. Alistair's prayer is mostly taken from the Mother's Prayer song Celine Dion sings in Quest for Camelot. It just seemed fitting somehow. _


	5. Destroy Them All

It wasn't so much a laugh as a cackle that awoke Alistair or at least that's what he'd decided to tell himself once he'd found the object of his awakening to be Morrigan. He'd barely moved when a resounding thud upon the top of his head made him wish he was asleep again - intentional or no. "Ow!"

From her perch, coiled upon a rock beside the warden's accidental resting place, the she-devil smirked. "Oh I'm sorry, did I wake you from your fantasy land?"

It was only after a semi-thorough search for the weapon the witch had used did Alistair realize he was no longer in possession of the journal. It now rested in the crooked hands of his allied nemesis. Well, they were actually quite refined hands with a beautiful set of fingers, but he'd already decided he liked their image better crooked and deformed. It usually worked. Now, if only he could imagine up a wart real enough to actually grow on that face of hers.

_Nope not this time._ Perhaps there was something in the book about- wait, the book. "Hey, give that back!"

She chose instead to dangle it above him before slipping it away in a place he'd never search - her robes. "It's really for the best, you know. Can't have our _leader_ snoozing off every time things get a little too hard now can we?"

The warden struggled himself into a seated position, furiously fixing his tunic. "I will have you know that I have things well in hand, Miss let's-just-turn-into-a-hoard-of-flies-then-disappear-until-everyone-else-is-slaughtered."

"Really, now? Then what would you have done if instead of I, it was a pair of darkspawn swooping down upon you to take their merry vengeance?"

"Yes, yes. We've already established that swooping is bad. And it wasn't darkspawn it was you." Alistair glowered as he lowered his voice. "Oh how I wish it had been the darkspawn."

Amber eyes rolled. "Charming. Moving on. While I would have been content to let you lie here and let you stew in your own filth, Wynne has bid me tell you that if we are to reach Denerim before the blight is over, we might want to consider actually moving in that direction."

"You're listening to Wynne now?" The warden quickly double-checked his napping place. "How long was I asleep?"

Morrigan stormed off, leaving Alistair to sit in a pool of his own laughter. When that was done, he sniffed his tunic. Yep, there was filth there too. Oh, how he missed his Mahariel. She made there be an actual reason for freshening things up a bit. Maybe though, if he kept this up, he could simply walk into a darkspawn camp all undetected - now there was a plan!

Except he wasn't willing to work that hard on it. Truly, it would be a monumental effort to acquire that much stink. And then if he found his elf, she'd probably run him through... No, that was a bad plan. Bad, plan. Bad.

Slowly he sighed, the witch was right on more than that count. It was time to move on. Little drinks-too-much and his accompanying mountain already had a head start. The same went for little pants-at-his-ankles-too-much and his accompanying shoe-killer woman.

* * *

Pants-ankles and shoe-killer were entirely too good at... doing what they did. Already, the remainder of the group had been in Denerim four days and Alistair hadn't seen hide nor hair of either of them. Normally, this would be a good thing, but now there was this Landsmeet and the business of Arl Eamon pushing him to be king. Really - who took a look at his bastard self and decided yes, here's leader material? Was it stamped on his forehead somewhere that he'd forgotten to wash off when the arl's servants made him bathe? Was it a hex Morrigan had placed over him as she stood atop the old warden ruins?

Alistair slammed his pint down upon the wooden table. He was fairly sure he'd made it quite clear he didn't want to be king - even if most of that was just to himself. Not only that, but he shouldn't be king - not with his laundry list of flaws. Certainly, it was one thing to question the current leadership, but it was quite another to insinuate that he was some sort of superhero by trying to make him king while he was trying to stop a blight. It was too much.

Resting his head in his hands, the warden finally decided it was too much. It was time to be serious as apparently everything he had been doing had lead him up to being exactly where he didn't want to be. Did the nobles think he could trade sanction the archdemon to death? Outlaw it, perhaps? No, he had to stab it... and that thought went straight down another road he didn't want to think about it. Stabbing the demon would kill him and if he were dead, he wouldn't be able to find his elf.

"I know she's been made to be strong," he slurred, "but she's just so fragile, so... human... You know what I mean?"

"No." _Oops, that last part had been out loud._ Sten glared at him from across the arl's dining room table.

Alistair slowly, carefully stood up. His last concession to freedom swam before him with no more ale to fill it. Now was the time to be serious... as soon as he could stand properly.

The voice that came across the table was at once too quiet and thunderous. "I do not understand why you weaken yourself in this time of war."

"I weaken myself..." Yep, there's the bench. "Because as of tomorrow..." Would you look at that wall slide by. Oh, now there. It stopped. "Because as of tomorrow, I will no longer be a warrior. They want to make a politician out of me."

The giant frowned... more so than usual. "Does your king not lead his men into battle?"

"He does, but no one expects him to actually be anywhere he might get hit... or hit much of anything for that matter." Memories of Ostagar rushed in unbidden, painting the warden's thoughts grey. "Especially not after what happened to Cailan."

"Then you must refuse this kingship and fight." The word was final upon the air, but there was so much more to it - wasn't there?

"I can't just... A traitor sits on the throne ruling with his daughter as proxy."

"Then we kill him." Leather and brandy melted out from the walls with daggers drawn just to make a sultry, lethal point. "And we see how the proxy does on her own."

"Let Anora rule?" The idea spun in Alistair's head. It wasn't so terrible, but yet he'd been so against it because her father... "What if she's just as bad as him?"

"Then we kill her too. By the time we know this, the demon should be dead. Then you can rule." Zevran nodded as though the solution really was that simple.

"So what, we just hack and slash our way to the outcome we want?" Why didn't this seem like a bad idea? This had to be a very very bad idea. You couldn't just kill people to get what you wanted - it was wrong.

"Ah but you see, we are only killing the ones you consider evil. That should satisfy your morals, yes?" The assassin sheathed his blades and came to sit at the table.

Something was missing. Alistair cocked a strange gaze at the Antivan. "Where's Leliana?"

Zevran smiled ruefully into his ale. "I believe she had business to attend to this night with one of your fair noblemen."

"What sort of- Aw, no. No. We're not... no." The warden shook his head. Had honor and facing your enemy head-on left the fields of Ferelden when he and Sten had sat down for a drink?

"You do not approve our methods, but you like the outcome. You must be a king already." The painted elf chuckled to himself.

Alistair had had enough. He stood, gathering an air of dignity to himself before departing. "I'll be... in my room."

* * *

He dreamt of her that night. Visions of roses given, helpful hands offered, and slow smiles tortured his dreams. Then they subsided.

_He was standing on a road. A rough wind whipped through his hair as it blew out of a purple night. A faint shimmer of moon caught the shadow of a passing figure slung low on a sable halla. As it trudged closer, he could see the armor of the bent person - not shiny and reflective as his own, but dark and curved, closely fitting the form of a woman. _

_The weary beast did not stop as it approached the warden, but slowed, swaying slowly in its tracks. The woman atop it slid just a little further to one side with each uneven motion. When the pair was directly before him, the lady fell. Catching her was all too easy as though this figure was supposed to fit snugly in his arms in a way she could not fit in the saddle._

_Instinct and curiosity moved his hand to press her hood slowly back. Another feeling entirely, turned the touch into a caress. He knew her face. In a different time it had been more gold than slate colored. "Sarel," he whispered._

_Her eyes watched him slowly. Cracked lips fell open. "I... heard you."_

_A slice of black cut across the sky, bringing with it a screaming roar that scraped across his nerves. He couldn't understand the beast that flew overhead, but he knew what it was. The archdemon was calling._

Alistair was awake in moments. If that was... then...

"No..."


	6. Don't Fall Asleep

"You were in the Fade."

A voice, sultry and accusatory broke into the blackness of Alistair's chambers.

"I was not." The sleep-baffled warden retorted quickly. In truth, the woman in his room could have told him he was ruggedly handsome and he would have had the same response. It was Morrigan after all. She tended to bring out the contrary nature in, well, everyone.

"Yes, you were." Yellow eyes seemed to glow as they advanced across the room.

"I'm afraid she's right, Alistair, and not in the normal way." A warm, soft voice like butterscotch candies floated across the darkness. Hands, lit barely by moonlight, seemed to be moving in a steady gesture until a blue glow sprang forth above them. Wynne.

"Oh, it's a party. Let's just get Leliana and- Wait a minute. I'm pretty sure I locked that door. If she's not here, how did you get in?" The almost-templar drew a plush, red blanket higher up his chest as he attempted to push a heated glower through his genuine curiosity.

Wynne merely inclined her head toward the ball of magic writhing in her palm. Actually, over her palm may have been a more precise term. It didn't so much sit there as glow and froth like an over-stoked stew pot.

_But, right, yes. Magic._ "And you wonder why we templars watched you so carefully." The warden's fingers curled a bit tighter around his blanket. He supposed they could just whip it off of him with some wind spell or such, but he prayed like never before that they weren't inclined to steal his last shred of decency. He'd just woken up and wasn't expecting company when he'd went to bed and... And Morrigan was staring at him like he'd just sprouted a set of yellow feathers and shrunk to the size of a single mouthful.

"Ahem." The elder mage adopted a lecturer stance as she gazed cooly across the room, staff firmly in hand. "What we were trying to say is that we have sensed something in the Fade reaching out to you-"

"-And we came to see if a desire demon had strung you up like a puppet. Instead you were just mumbling incoherent pleas through bubbles of drool." The witch's pretty mouth twisted into a disgusted grimace so deep it might have been carved in. "It was very disappointing."

"It's just so refreshing to know you care, Morrigan." The warden couldn't keep the contempt from his voice. "Tell you what, the next time I even begin to suspect I might have a dream caused by such a demon, I'll be sure to _not _tell you. Oh, wait. I didn't tell you about this one either and yet here you are." He frowned scornfully. "Need a better plan."

"Children!" Wynne's shout was hushed, but effective. "This is not helping anyone. Alistair, I assure you this has nothing to do with someone's voyeuristic tendencies, but we do need you to tell us what you saw. Was it the archdemon?"

"Arch- No, it was..." His eyes drifted to an empty point in space as the details came flooding back. The pale face, the cracked skin... "Sarel! We need to find her! We need to leave now!" He lept from the bed, searching wildly for his sword.

"Alistair..." A soft, coaxing voice joined a sharp "My my" as the warden remembered that he hadn't been able to find any pajamas his size last night...

Not even the cool night air could help the flush he felt spreading to every part of his body. Surely, there was a way to recover from this gracefully. He was pretty certain, however, that whatever way that was, would not be the way he was about to choose. "Morrigan, make my clothes reappear, please."

A bout of laughter from the evil-hued peanut gallery suddenly ceased. "Surely, you jest. I would never- I never had any interest in-"

"Desire demon didn't make the play date so you felt you had better do it yourself, was that it?" Alistair nearly patted himself on the back. His words sounded righteously angry even to himself. Must be something in that noble blood.

"Would you stop playing around and return the man some dignity? We still need him to tell us what happened." Even as she glowered, there was a glint in the older woman's eye telling the almost-templar that while she was glad of any excuse to scold the apostate, she would not be taken for a fool.

"Oh, I'll just have to get them myself, won't I?" _There aren't two women watching you turn around and reach for the drawer. Alright, there are, but it doesn't matter. If you can just maintain your bearing, they won't laugh. Well, anymore than they already have. There's the shirt, good. Oh, look at that, it covers all the way down. How handy. And we just need some pants..._

A small tooth on a leather thong thumped against the warden's chest as he bent. Without thinking, his hand rose to caress it's smooth surface, feeling for the notch that Sarel had carved. _More of a symbol really, just for him... _

_Right, pants. Pants would be good now._

"This dream you were having..." Wynne prompted as she diverted her eyes toward the bed's draped canopy.

"Well, Sarel was there, of course. She was... a figure, a lone rider on a horse." _Foot, get through the pant leg, now!_ "Then when she got to me, she fell into my arms, but her face was cracked and torn like something horrible had happened." Alistair stopped hopping to gaze up at the wizened mage with child-like hope. "You don't think something horrible as truly happened to her, do you Wynne? It was just a dream, wasn't it?" Despite his question, the warden frowned, knowing all too well the truth of dreams.

"The Fade is a place of great power and great knowing. Not to be trifled with by the uninitiated. But yes, I'm sure Sarel is fine." Her manner was calm, but unconvincing. Shadows of theories danced behind eyes that had already seen too much.

"What she means to say if that's all that happened in this mystical dream of yours then you really have nothing to worry about. You simply dwell on your unrequited love for our leader, 'tis all." Morrigan's voice slid across the room like a silk-wrapped dagger. Her amber eyes seemed to share a moment with the elder mage at her side.

_Mages conspiring? No, couldn't be._ Fully dressed and fully awake, the almost-templar pointed a finger between them in a commanding stance no child could ever attain. "You think I'm dreaming about her because she's become one of them."

One of the witch's brows nearly disappeared under her ebony hair as she arched it skyward. "So, he can learn new tricks after all!"

Wynne's frown balanced the rising brow as she brushed Morrigan aside. "Alistair, she was tainted before she had ever become a warden. You know the lure better than I. Could you stand it for as long as she had if its strength was doubled?"

"I... I don't know." Alistair lowered his head, staring at the ground as though the lines in the wood below his feet were a riddle to solve. "Surely, there's something we can do for her."

The elder woman placed a soothing hand upon the warden's shoulder. "I think you already know that the best we can do is slay the archdemon. This is no fairy tale. Doing so won't bring her back, but without the creature's call maybe..."

Almost-templar and mage held each other's gaze in silence. Their words, as contradictory to each other as their pasts, came at once.

"Maybe she can break free of the call."

"Maybe she can have some sort of life."

Alistair was silent. He knew Wynne was likely right, but it felt so wrong to just give up hope now.

"I truly hate to break up this- whatever this is, but shouldn't we be worrying about - Oh, I don't know - slaying the archdemon, perhaps? It is not as though we can walk up to the beast and ask it to drop dead." The witch canted her head to the side as if her own words had sparked an interesting notion in her mind - one that she was certainly not willing to share with the class.

"Tomorrow Eamon is going to try to use me to unite the nobles. That will be the last of the armies we can expect to get." The warden opened and closed his mouth as the wretched truth of all their past work came alive before him. "I don't know where to go from there."

_It just wasn't fair. _

As though he could heal all of his frustration by placing blame, Alistair stomped forward and grabbed Morrigan by the shoulders. "Do you have even the slightest hint where this demon might be? Do you? Because I'm pretty sure we've searched ever square inch of Ferelden from muck to magpie with no sign of it. You tell me where it is and I swear I will march straight up to its gaping jaw and demand its head on a silver platter."

Subdued, but unruffled, the witch blinked in one slow and deliberate act. "The Fade."

"Yes, that is what we were talking about earlier, but we've since moved on to archdemons..." The warden's ire stilled as the mage behind him gasped.

"That would be extremely dangerous - for the traveler and the host." Wynne stared Morrigan down from behind Alistair. Whatever the idea was, it did not sound like she was discounting it entirely. Rather, she was merely preparing to argue the logistics of it.

"I have a feeling I'm not going to like what's whizzing over my head at this moment." The warden attempted to cast a suspicious eye upon each spellcaster.

"Oh, it won't hurt much. We're just going to use you to access you dreams in the Fade - your demonic dreams." Morrigan wasn't just excited about her idea, she was aglow.

Alistair groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have asked."


End file.
